


In the name of something new

by sarahcakes613



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Barba was never the ADA for SVU, Judge Rafael Barba, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24725479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahcakes613/pseuds/sarahcakes613
Summary: ADA Sonny Carisi finds himself in Judge Rafael Barba's courtroom for the first time.Soulmark AU where some soulmarks are not first words, but are words said in a moment of truest emotion.
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr.
Comments: 22
Kudos: 105
Collections: Barisi Pride 2020, The Leonard Cohen Files





	In the name of something new

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soul_writerr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soul_writerr/gifts).



> This covers Side A: Black and Side B: Soulmates for the June challenge.
> 
> I do not know how being held in contempt actually works or if judges at the municipal level are elected officials, I am very much Not A Lawyer.

_I looked for you in everyone/And they called me on that too_ – Coming Back to You, Leonard Cohen

“Hey Carisi, I heard you’re on Barba’s docket today.”

The comment comes from somewhere behind Sonny, one of the fellow junior ADAs that he’s become friendly with since joining the DA’s office.

“Yeah, he’s hearing my request for remand. Anything I oughta know?”

He’s never yet appeared before Judge Rafael Barba, but the man’s reputation precedes him. Tough on defense, but not a man to suffer fools gladly when it comes to prosecutors. Sonny would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous, it’s always nerve-wracking to step in front of a new judge, someone you haven’t had the chance to see in situ before, and he knows he’s developed his own mild reputation for being abrasive. He can only hope the judge will give him a chance to prove himself.

“Well, Timmins and I have money on whether you object yourself into contempt again, so if you’re gonna do it, try to take less than 30 minutes. I’ll buy you a drink with my winnings.”

Sonny rolls his eyes. “Man, you do that _one time_ and it’s all anyone thinks about you. It’s a straightforward bail hearing, I’m not expecting to need to call objections.”

* * *

“Objection, your honour!” Sonny is on his feet.

Judge Barba stares down at him, a stony gaze above an aquiline nose. With his dark hair and black robes, he presides over his courtroom like a stoic raven.

Carisi glares back, angry at how unreasonable the defense’s argument is and not understanding why Barba’s even deigning to hear it. The defendant is a clear flight risk with access to private airplanes, surrendering his passport is hardly going to make a dent in his escape plans.

“Overruled, counsellor. _Again_. I’m beginning to see why my colleagues were so amused to hear you’d be gracing my courtroom today. One more outburst from you and you may find yourself held in contempt.”

Sonny sinks back into his seat resentfully and throws daggers at the defense counsel, who has the audacity to look smugly back at him.

When bail is finally set, it is pitifully low, and Sonny jumps up again. Barba stares at him, but he doesn’t care.

“You may as well hold me in contempt now, your honour, because I OBJECT.” He punctuates his statement with a closed fist on the table.

Judge Barba’s eyes widen and he sits up straight, staring down at Sonny. There is a brief pause before he calls for a recess, and then looking directly at Sonny again, he says, in the iciest tone Sonny has ever heard from someone who isn’t one of his sisters, “My chambers, counsellor.” And with that, he steps away from the bench and is gone from the courtroom in a sweep of black robes.

Sonny stands stock-still, the words on his collarbone burning like frost on his skin. It can’t be. It’s not possible. It shouldn’t be possible.

Sonny didn’t choose to go into law only because of his words, but it was certainly a determining factor in his path. He’s been called counsellor by dozens of people, has even been called into chambers by more than a handful, but his words had remained dormant, waiting for this moment.

Some people are luckier than others, he thinks. They are the ones who have their soulmate’s first words embedded down the length of their collarbones, wrapped around their ankles, crawling up their forearms. There’s never been a comprehensive analysis that’s been able to show why some have first words and others don’t, but everyone agrees that it’s just a relief that pairs always have the same treatment.

For Sonny and Barba, apparently, this means they both have words that their soulmate will say to them in a moment of truest emotion. That it happened today doesn’t mean anything, it could as easily have happened during Sonny’s fifth or fiftieth time in Barba’s courtroom. Just his luck he always has to push the objection envelope, Sonny thinks bitterly.

He’s never been against the concept of soulmates, he liked the comfort of knowing his was out there somewhere, but meeting them, having that tangible proof of an other half, it was never really on his radar. There was always something to do first, the academy, law school, his time at SVU. There was a time he thought he might feel his words burst into sensation if the right circumstance hit while he was with Rollins, like maybe she’d utter them in a seductive tone after congratulating him on passing the bar.

It’s a what might have been, a fleeting thought that doesn’t hold up to sober reflection.

Now he’s standing in an emptying courtroom, his skin tingling, and sure he’s always nervous to face a new judge but now he’s absolutely fucking terrified because he’s about to be alone with one, and it’s not an evening in jail he needs to worry about so much as his entire future.

He tries to remember if he’s ever heard anything about Judge Barba’s personal life, but he comes up blank. He knows the man is Harvard-educated, knows he worked Brooklyn before a lateral move to Manhattan, knows his prosecution record is strong and his cases rarely get appealed. The most private thing he can dredge up from his memory bank is he’s pretty sure he remembers one of the other junior ADA’s getting him for Secret Santa last Christmas and complaining because she couldn’t afford to buy him a bottle of the Macallan 21 he’d listed as being his favourite.

There’s a discreet cough and he looks up to see one of the courtroom bailiffs standing in front of the table.

“Judge Barba’s waiting for you.” He says. Sonny wonders if he’s imagining the look of sympathy in the bailiff’s eyes.

He allows himself to be led to the judge’s chambers, and gently shoved inside, the door swinging shut behind him.

Barba is standing by the window, his black robes thrown haphazardly over his chair. He cuts his eyes over to Sonny and then looks back out onto the streetscape. He doesn’t say anything for so long that Sonny begins to wonder if he could just leave without the other man noticing.

“You’re fairly new to Hadid’s team, aren’t you?” He finally speaks without turning around.

“Yessir. Your honour.” Sonny isn’t sure what the etiquette is for addressing your superior when they’re also your soulmate.

Barba laughs, a surprisingly low pitched chuckle. “You don’t need to use titles when I’m not in my robes, counsellor. Please, call me Rafael.”

Sonny thrills at this small intimacy. “Only if you call me Sonny.”

Rafael looks over at him again. His eyes sweep over Sonny’s body, lingering on his collarbone, hidden though it is beneath his shirt and jacket.

“Should we – “ Sonny’s not sure what he’s asking. They don’t need visual confirmation; he knows they both felt the telltale tingle that indicates a matched set of soulmarks. He’s curious though, wants to know what his handwriting looks like scribbled across the other man’s tanned skin.

Rafael seems to understand, and he faces Sonny, hands deftly unravelling his tie and unbuttoning his collar. He pulls it aside and hooks a finger in the vee-neck of his undershirt, pulling it down to show the beginning of his words.

There they are, in stark relief, glossy black like a fresh tattoo despite the chest hair they are nestled in. Sonny can only see the first few words, “you may as well hold – “ but he knows what his own scrawl looks like and he sees the familiar way he loops his a’s, the angular slant of his l’s.

He lets his eyes drift, lingering briefly over the hair rising above the undershirt’s neckline, the vaguest shadow of Rafael’s nipple, dark through the fabric. His eyes drift up to Rafael’s own, and he sees a glint in them as Rafael juts his chin out at Sonny, indicating that it is his turn now.

Sonny takes his jacket off, slinging it on the back of a chair, and tugs at the knot of his tie until he can loop it over his head. He thanks god for small mercies and the fact that he put on a clean undershirt today. It’s a tank-style, so he doesn’t need to hold anything out of the way for Rafael to see his own handwriting looking back at him.

The words on Sonny’s collarbone are blocky caps, and Rafael nods, as if to say for certain, yes, that’s mine.

There are things to discuss, all the moving parts in the vagaries of a new relationship, but it’s late in the day and Sonny’s not actually sure if he’s allowed to leave or if Rafael still intends to hold him in contempt.

He shifts awkwardly on his feet as Rafael looks at him consideringly.

“You know I have to hold you in contempt, don’t you, counsellor?” Rafael’s voice is cool, professional, but his eyes are warm as he looks at Sonny.

“I gave you fair warning and you made a stand, which I admire, but if anyone makes the connection to our moment and you walk out of here with no repercussions, it will look like I’m already giving you favourable treatment.”

Sonny nods. The other man is right, he did give fair warning, and Sonny made a judgement call, and he stands by it. He’s got a good book and a toothbrush in his briefcase; he’ll be okay if he needs to spend the night in holding.

“That being said, if, at the end of his day, the presiding judge decides that he’s feeling lenient and sets a mere low fine to be paid, you might be able to walk out of here in time for a late dinner somewhere.”

Barba smirks as he slides his robes back on, the severe black fabric falling around him and covering his open shirt like curtains falling on a stage.

“I don’t know, your honour, wouldn’t that be considered bribing an elected official?” Sonny asks innocently.

“If it happens after the fact, it’s not legally considered bribery.” Barba tells him, and Sonny’s not sure that’s actually true, but he’s happy to go along with it.

They leave Barba’s chambers and walk back into the courtroom, where the bailiff is waiting for Sonny. They turn to leave when Barba calls out.

“Sonny?”

Sonny turns back to look at him. “Yeah?”

Rafael smiles. “I’m glad you wound up in my court today.”

**Author's Note:**

> The world (by which I mean me) needs more Judge Barba stories please and thank you.


End file.
